When the Pirate Met the Assassin
by bamftastik
Summary: How Isabela met Zevran, lost a husband and gained a ship. Vaguely NSFW.


The first time she had seen the stranger leaving her husband's cabin, Isabela had stopped and stared. They had been in port near a week and the Captain had had no shortage of visitors, most of them looking for work. A few merchants had come to haggle (always make them come to you, he said) and he had let her listen to their conversations. She would serve the drinks or be dandled on his knee (his "Sweet Thing"), just another pretty treasure among all his jewels and rings. But she hadn't minded. She was learning.

She had been young then, but years with the crew of the Siren's Call had aged her more than any of them knew. Her prison had become a wonder the moment they first left port, any fear at being traded over to this burly, jewel-encrusted stranger vanishing with the first whisper of the waves. Already she could outrace any man amongst the rigging, disarm all that dared offer her a duel and outdrink the lot of them. Her Lord Husband (for every captain was a lord on his own ship) never seemed to notice, preferring to closet himself with his maps and treasures, even when they were well out to sea. But she knew. And as her steps grew accustomed to the swaying of the deck, the crew's lustful glances turned to nods of respect.

Nor did she mind the Captain's distance. It was not long before the others were deferring to her in his absence, laughing with her where he ruled with coin and fear. As a husband, he raised no particular cause for complaint. She had all that she desired. He adorned her in jewels and silks, sometimes wanting only to watch her as she strode across the cabin in his newest gifts... and little else. He possessed other endowments that would have kept any wife satisfied, though imagination was not among them. Still, she supposed she had come to love the life, if not the man.

When she saw the stranger, though, she knew that it was about to change. He looked like so many of the rest who prowled the docks; his clothes were roughspun and ill-fitting, but he wore them with a proud and easy grace, expertly concealing the fine leathers hidden beneath. Like all elves he was pretty, perhaps even more than most, his high cheekbones outlined with a long and brazen tattoo. But it wasn't his beauty that stopped her. Nor was it truly his eyes, though when he saw her he too had stopped to stare. Isabela was accustomed to being undressed with a gaze, but the stranger did not bother. His eyes simply _knew_, had already had her, had tasted the darkness of her deepest desires.

He had grinned, dropping into a flourishing bow before bracing a hand on the rail and leaping over the side. He landed lightly, rolling into an easy crouch and disappearing into the crowd without a backward glance.

It was two days before she saw him again, arriving at midday to closet himself with her husband. She had half a mind to fetch fresh drink, to make some excuse for disturbing them, but she was the lady of this ship; she went where she pleased. Slipping through the cabin door, she let her eyes adjust to the dim, the ornate curtains pulled tight against the high Antivan heat. They had already cracked a short cask of ale (not wine as would befit a merchant or important guest) and it took only a glance to see that the Captain was already deep in his cups. Across the table, the stranger's mug appeared untouched.

Yet he was congenial enough, resting a boot across his knee as he threw back his head to laugh at something she had not heard.

Her husband grinned to see her. "Come here, Sweet Thing." He grabbed for her as she stepped near, pulling her clumsily into his lap. "What do you think, wife? Zevran here wants to join the crew."

"Ah, _The __Captain's __Bride._" His accents marked him as local, the words twisting with that proud flourish that all Antivans seemed to share. The excuse for the meeting was clearly a lie, but her husband was either too drunk or too stupid to notice. The elf winked at her.

"I told him his pretty self wouldn't last a week at sea with these animals." He gave a rumbling laugh, slapping Isabela's thigh. "But I'm starting to think that's just the sort of thing he fancies."

"To be becalmed on a ship full of lonely brutes, all yearning for the pleasures of port?" Zevran chuckled. "Perish the thought."

Isabela smirked. "I've managed."

"Have you now?" The Captain bounced her on his knee, tickling her. "She twirls a dagger prettily enough, that much is true."

The elf's eyebrows rose, impressed.

"My Sweet Thing is a creature of many talents." He gave her breast an affectionate squeeze. "But it's me they fear."

Isabela pushed against his chest and rose smoothly to her feet, but he wrapped a thick hand round her wrist. "Oh come, wife. I only tease."

The stranger gave a thin-lipped smile, but his eyes had grown cold. "Perhaps she is not so sweet as you claim, my friend."

"Let's just say her manners aren't the sweet bits, eh?" He gave a booming laugh, pulling Isabela back onto his knee.

Zevran raised his mug to her as if in salute before taking a single, delicate sip.

Her husband's eyes narrowed. "But you won't be tasting her, elf."

"Ah. I take it I did not get the job, then?"

"I didn't say that. Haven't made up my mind yet." He ran a hand up Isabela's back, stroking idly. She recognized the look in his eyes – wild, hungry, entitled. It was the look the men got whenever they put into some out-of-the-way port, a lawless excitement that usually led to either pirating or sex. On a good night, both.

The Captain drained his mug, shifting her into his lap. Isabela had to chuckle. The thin linen of his breeches was the only thing keeping the stranger from getting a full show. Already he was struggling to hide a smile, golden eyes again locking to hers.

"Need time to think about it. Now, if you'll excuse me." One meaty hand gestured abruptly to the door, while the other was sliding up her thigh.

"I understand, my friend. Were I in the company of such ravishing beauty, I too would find it difficult to think. Though I suspect you have the problem often."

Her husband missed the insult, busying himself with his laces. "Always a distraction, this one. Now get out."

Zevran dropped into a bow, lingering only long enough to take Isabela's hand in his and brush a fleeting kiss across her knuckles.

The door had not yet closed behind him before her husband threw her down across the table, tangling a hand in her hair as he shifted behind her. "You want him."

It wasn't a question, but he never made it one when they played this game. Maybe it was his way of keeping her from dallying with the crew. He would accuse her of wanting each man in turn, would have her describe the things that she would do to them if he allowed it. She'd rarely met a man who would be worth the trouble, but the Captain clearly enjoyed their little game. Clearly. Bracing her hands against the tabletop, Isabela arched her back. She didn't mind telling stories. In fact, she was getting quite good at it.

The possibilities whirled through her mind, this Zevran with his knowing glances and lithe limbs. But for once she found herself holding her tounge... keeping the thoughts all for herself. It didn't seem to diminish her husband's ardor.

Behind her, he gave a grunt. "This country is nothing but whores and assassins. But if it's a pretty elf you want, I'll find us a proper wench."

He had women in ever port, an endless parade of flesh to warm their cabin. Isabela had quickly found that she did not mind. Men could be dreadfully boring. The bedmates, her stories, the nights when he would simply sit back and watch her wear whatever gift he had most recently stolen... The man was more than twenty years her senior, though still hale and handsome enough. It had not taken her long to see the truth of it. If his passions occasionally deserted him, she could pretend not to notice. Nor would she ever speak a word of it beyond these walls, of course, but there were nights where she felt more conspirator than plaything.

Tonight he was having no such trouble, it seemed. Another grunt marked the end of it, a sudden bite of cool air nibbling at the back of her thighs as he tucked himself away. "I'm going ashore," was all he said by way of farewell. "Maybe I'll find you something pretty."

"Make her a blonde if you would, My Lord."

With a laugh, he slapped her hard across the ass and strode out onto the deck.

Isabela gave a long, luxuriant stretch before moving into the adjoining room, to the loose board in the wall beside the bed. From the hidden pouch, she took a tiny pinch of herb, dropping it into the cup that the elf had left behind. She'd always made a habit of avoiding complications. But as she watched the leaves dissolve, stirring with a finger the bitter brew that would leave her belly flat, the Captain's words came back to her.

_"Whores... __and __assassins."_

"Hm." With a shrug, she drank it down.


End file.
